


Big Daddy Íþróttaálfurinn

by kiyarasabel



Series: Do You Want to Fuck a Cryptid? [2]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Nonverbal Communication, Nonverbal Consent, Other, cryptid AU, eventual impreg, threatening bad guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyarasabel/pseuds/kiyarasabel
Summary: I saw a this picture of Cryptid!Íþróttaálfurinn being a protective parent of tiny baby Cryptid!Sportacus and it was too much for my soulhttp://skyshimmer.tumblr.com/post/156653069534/alfar-cryptid-au-celestialess-they-wereThis is based loosely on Celestialess' Alfarcryptid AU with some of my own tweaks. Please don't bother Dream finder about these.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is all fluff. Íþró doesn't even like you yet.

Lost, cold, tired, hungry. You don't know when you left the path or how long you've been off course. You don't even know what direction you're heading in with the clouds covering the sky. You know that you should stay put so that a search party will be able to find you easier, but you need to find some kind of shelter from the cold wind and freezing rain. There isn't enough snow to build a fort and the rain is washing away what remains. You're afraid that you're going to die out here tonight, soaked to your skin, teeth chattering.

Morbid thoughts consume you, how long before they find your body, if they find your body. You're about ready to give up and wait for the inevitable when you hear a terrifying snarl. “Just get it over with.” You whine turning towards the sound. You were expecting a bear, maybe wolves, but instead it's an almost humanoid shape.

The hair stands up along the back of your neck and if you hadn't had goosebumps enough from the cold you certainly do now. You have heard the legends, myths about inhuman monsters snatching lost hikers, but you thought it was just stories. Just blurry photographs of men in costumes.

The snarling not-man is like a gargoyle, fierce and demonic. Long ragged ears, sharp claws, thick digitigrade legs and a tail to match. Its mass makes it seem to be made of stone, but it moves toward you like fluid, or even the wind. You lay down and prepare to die horribly.

It seems confused, very cautiously circling you before prodding you surprisingly gently. You tighten into a ball and if you weren't already so exhausted, you would probably be sobbing with fear. It starts to lift you and you're astounded by how warm it is. You close your eyes and wait expecting the pain to begin, but instead you start to move. You feel ill, the staggering loping pace as the monster carries you off. You've almost passed out when it sets you down, and you realize that rain isn't falling on you anymore.

There is a hard slanting surface below you and realize it's a cave. It doesn't smell very good, and as your eyes struggle to adjust, you see bones and scraps of hide laying everywhere. The beast has brought you back to its lair. You go towards the mouth of the cave and instantly regret it, the height is dizzying. As you back away from the edge you hear a skittering deeper inside. Chills run down your spine and you wonder what it could be. You collapse to the ground and wait.

You understand immediately once you see it, the beast has young. Obviously you are meant to be its meal, maybe even hunting practice. You hope it's hungry, because you've seen how long some animals play with their prey. Before it can pounce on you the parent monster is back, snarling, standing between you and its young. The cub seems undeterred, and for the first time you realize that they seem to be wearing clothing.

You back away to the far side of the lair. The adult beast carries his squirming offspring off to parts unknown. You have almost slipped away again when it comes back, throwing something next to you and leaving. Dry, soft, it appears to be blankets. You strip out of your soaking clothes and curl into the dry pile, bundling yourself up tight. Finally you sleep.

You wake up curled around something warm and soft. For a moment you think it must have all been a dream, that you are at home with a cat in your arms. You startle as a roar blasts spittle on your face. You open your eyes slowly. The beast is bellowing at you, and its young is curled up in your arms, clinging to your naked body possessively. It chitters at its parent and pulls your blankets over its face.

You try your best not to move as the monster tears the blankets away. You want to curl up and cover yourself but you don't want to make any sudden movements or get any nearer to the small beast next to you. It won't let go of your arm as you try to ease away and it crawls still closer to you, apparently arguing with the larger monster.

Finally the parent relents, grunting with displeasure. You see that your clothes are laid out flat but clearly still soaked. The adult creature stalks off and the young one eagerly nuzzles you rubbing his face all along your body, especially your face. You can't help but be charmed and you pat his head. He leans into your touch with a loud purr and when you touch one of his long ears he melts into you. You laugh and start rubbing them, making him squirm. You discover that he's ticklish and he shrieks, giggling with delight.

You're startled when the adult looms over you again, you hadn't heard him return and you're terrified that it might think that you hurt its child, but instead it tosses cloth in your face as it grumbles. You sit up and find that it's clothing. Roughly made, heavily worn and not fitted for a human body, but you'll take what you can get, pulling it on quickly.

He disappears again and you realize that you've started to think of them as he's rather than its. In fact after this long in their presence you even start to feel familiar with them. The father is beautiful in a way, true to your first impression, his face is like chiseled stone, sharp, angular and full of an inner fire. By comparison his small son is cherubic, all round cheeks and big eyes. You suspect that he will grow into as lean and wiry a frame as his father, but for now he's still a bit pudgy with adorable baby fat.

He certainly is aware of the effect of his cuteness, frequently taking advantage of your time alone together to capture your undivided attention. You haven't spent a lot of time around children, but the closest analog you can compare him to is a puppy, his pure, innocent, unconditional love. He's very cuddly and playful, bounding around the lair, propping himself up in strange poses. His energy is nearly limitless as far as you can tell.

He abruptly takes a nap in your lap after finally wearing himself down and some time later his father reappears. You catch a ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at his child, before the hard look returns.

He drops a raw fish on the ground in front of you, as well as a woven grass basket full of nuts and berries. You aren't sure where he managed to gather them in this season, but wildcrafting isn't your strong suit. Your hike was supposed to take a few hours at most, the weather forecast had been clear. Instead you are lost a day and a half into a ravine with a strange species of humanoid under a constant assault of sleet.

You wonder if this is what Jane Goodall felt like. The child in your lap stirs, whiskers twitching, before bounding to his feet to pounce on the basket, stuffing his face with greedy handfuls. His father growls at him and the boy pouts, taking deliberate nibbles at the fish. The father groans, crouching down to tear off a chunk of the tail before shaking it at him meaningfully. The child whines, but dutifully tosses the sizeable portion of meat into his mouth, throwing his head back to swallow it in a single gulp. You can't help but stare at the lump traveling down his throat.

The father grunts again, this time to gain your attention, he gestures to the food in clear invitation, even if he has so far been fairly stern with you.

“I guess it's sushi tonight.” You mumble, digging in with the kind of enthusiasm only hunger can provide.

He walks away and you notice him shake like a dog to throw off the water dampening him and he starts to shed his clothes. You look away at first out of a sense of modesty, but your curiosity encourages a second look. Interestingly all you can see is a long slit on his pelvis leading into his tail. You assume that it must be like a dolphin's vent, as it would be unusual if this clearly mammalian species had a true cloaca. On the other hand you've heard tales that they lay eggs so you can't be sure.

You don't even know why you're thinking about it, but then, what else is there to do while you're trapped in this cave with freezing rain sluicing down the cliff face. Your clothes still haven't dried out, unsurprisingly since it's still so wet out, and you've spent most of your stay huddled in the blanket, with short forays into the further reaches of the cave. You don't leave beyond the entrances to the main chamber, the tunnels far too dark for you to see.

A clear day finally dawns and you notice a change in the adult elf's demeanor. He has in general been impatient and brusque with you, but you know that he's eagerly waiting for your clothes to dry, assumedly to get you away from his home. You thank him for everything and you're pretty sure he understands the general idea. He seems to play it down, but still, you try to teach him your name. He clearly understands your attempt at introduction, but he struggles to pronounce it. His attempt to teach his to you goes similarly. It's long and you're pretty sure that your mouth can't create the sounds he uses, but he seems to accept your best attempt at the first two syllables of his name. “Íþró.”

He's less keen on teaching you his son's name but the boy eagerly volunteers it. It's just as difficult to pronounce but your best approximation is “Sporty”.

The three of you have talked to each other a lot, and though you don't understand much, it has become something of a comfort, listening to their stories and they listening to you talk about yourself and your life.

In a weird way, you're going to miss this. Once your clothes are dry enough, you change back into them, noting that Íþró gives you a similar once over as you did him, complete with the same passing attempt at modesty. You imagine that he probably hasn't spent this much time up close to another sapient being of another species either, and from what you can tell he's likely spent most of his life actively avoiding any contact.

You didn't expect but aren't surprised when Sporty pitches a fit as Íþró prepares to take you away from the lair. They argue for a bit which you are expecting now, but what catches you by surprise is the way he grabs your leg and says a word that you can understand from sheer response. It doesn't matter that you can't speak their language, a child crying for its mother is unmistakable. Íþró is stricken and you think that you see tears in his eyes.

He steels himself before very firmly chastising his son, grabbing you like an afterthought and tucking you under one arm. You yelp and curl into yourself as he starts scaling the cliff face, his claws giving him purchase in the well worn cracks. He carries you for awhile like that before shifting you into a more comfortable position and carrying you in both arms as he stands on even footing. He runs for a ways before slowing down and setting you on your feet. He's nervous now, and he hunches down low on all fours, ears scanning his surroundings cautiously as he leads you forward.

You're equally quiet and cautious at first, but realize that he must be returning you to the trail and is hoping to avoid human notice. Still you need to ask. “What happened to Sporty’s mom? His...” You try to mimic the word the boy used.

Íþró stops suddenly and you see his shoulders heave. After a long moment he turns to you avoidantly. He indicates humans, and then mimes the unmistakable impression of a gun. You gasp and cover your mouth. No wonder he's been treating you so stiffly.

He starts trying to walk ahead, but stops when he realizes that you haven't moved. You can't help but think of what it all must mean for these lonely... People. Whatever species these elves are, they're definitely people. Just a single father, widowed with his young son. That Sporty had been so eager to bond with you after such a short time speaks of a desperate loneliness. You know the feeling, you took this trip in the hopes that you would find something meaningful for your life. Thinking about the small inhuman boy and the warm feelings that fill you, perhaps you have.

“Sporty.” You say, pointing back in the direction you came from. Íþró looks at you suspiciously, stands tall with his arms crossed over his chest and stares you down. “I want to stay. Sporty wants me to stay. He needs to not be so lonely.” You know that he can't understand most of your words, but you hope that your tone is clear.

He stares off into the distance, says his son's name. You consider that Sportacus is a closer approximation of the pronunciation. He turns back to you, gestures in the direction he had been leading you and mimes his symbol for humans. You shake your head. He gestures back towards his cave and makes very clear that if you go with him you can't go back to humanity.

You're almost surprised by how quickly you accept his ultimatum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut begins next chapter.


	2. Íþró gives you the fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those pesky elven ruts.

You like to think that you've become fairly attuned to Íthro’s moods, but he's become still more distant and agitated of late. Some days you think about leaving, returning to civilization but it feels too much like home here. Sportacus has become the greatest experience in your life, you couldn't trade the time you spend with him no matter how much you miss the joys of indoor plumbing and hot showers. Still, there's something missing in your life and you're pretty sure that it has something to do with the strained intimacy between you and Íthro. You've never really been totally at ease with one another, he's intimidating and you seem to dredge up his tragic memories.

One day while out foraging you finally ask him what's going on. He stares off into the distance thoughtfully, breathing carefully controlled, before crouching down and scratching at the dirt.

It's a picture of a deer. He draws another deer, this time with spikes. He draws two bucks butting heads with full antlers. As he looks distinctly reluctant to continue he starts to draw a doe, and then a buck nearby. He then draws a fat doe, and then a doe with a fawn. He circles the whole thing and covers his face with his hands in exasperation. Then he points to the fighting bucks and to himself, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh... You're in rut... And it's mating season and you...” You're not sure how to word things to continue. Is he looking for a mate? Does he have to fight for one, or his territory or is he just mourning the loss of his mate? You don't want to be insensitive but you also don't know how or what to ask about him.

“Do you always go into rut? Every year?” You ask.

He shakes his head and holds up two fingers.

“Every two years? Only twice?” He shakes his head to both. “Twice a year?” He nods.

“How long...” You trail off not sure how you want to continue the thought, asking about duration or how long he's been raising Sportacus alone. “How do you... Cope with it?”

He gives you a glare and huffs, making a crude gesture while shaking his head hopelessly.

“Will you... Find a new mate?”

He doesn't look hopeful. He quickly makes a sketch of some of his kind and then some human stick figures. He started wiping out his people and drawing more humans, humans coming between his people. He kept erasing until it was just two figures representing himself and his son.

“Are you the last?”

He made a vague gesture and you take it to mean that he doesn't know others anymore.

“If you rut twice a year, why aren't there more of you?”

He frowned and drew four ovals. He xed out three of them and drew a line from the last to his drawing of Sportacus.

You suppose it makes sense that they must not have a very high reproductive rate to be so rare. “So... Is there anything else you can do about it or do you just have to wait it out?”

‘Wait.’ Is his glum reply.

Things get even tenser between you after you start recognizing his discomfort more clearly. You can't help but start to notice that his pants get tight, sometimes even slightly damp. You especially notice it happening more often, especially when the two of you are alone together. Things hit a peak when you realize that you are starting to feel a similar response to him. You know as soon as he notices that.

He can still barely stand to look you in the eyes, but his gaze is often burning over you. You really start to wonder. Especially when Sportacus starts commenting on it and you're pretty sure that he's asking his father why you aren't mating. You're also pretty sure that his rebuttal is that you're human.

You wish that could be the end of the matter, but it's becoming increasingly obvious that your differing species doesn't seem to matter. The end of it finally arrives when you surprise him at the falls. You can't look away from his body as he bathes, and when you see him stroking himself, you whimper.

His head whips around to you in surprise and he's edgy. You know that you want to know what's just under the water. You're not sure how to indicate your interest. You're not sure exactly what your interest is. Curiosity alone is not enough, but you're not sure what you would be agreeing to if you go any further. 

His jaw clenches and he starts to back away. You take a step forward and he pauses, then hesitantly steps forward. You nod, swallowing hard, trying not to stare at the inconsistent ripples. He moves closer slowly and you try not to stare at the waterline dropping down his torso.

You gasp once you see him laid bare. You can't look away and he just stands there as you size him up. You realize that he's not just dripping from the water. It moves, a sinuous twitch, and your first comparison to a dolphin seems more than apt. You need to sit down because your knees feel like jelly. You're panting and can't look away. He takes another small step forward and you tremble. He pauses again before you finally look at his face.

You wonder which of you is blushing more. You bite your lip and he chances another step forward. You give a shaky nod and he starts approaching a little less cautiously. You start to undress yourself, rather gracelessly because now that you have the opportunity and permission, you shamelessly ogle every inch of his lithe body. He preens a little under your gaze, swaggering confidently. You feel yourself clench with excitement.

You lean back as he crouches before you, shivering as you feel the heat radiating off his body despite the chill water he's emerged from. He's almost dry, except for of course his oozing member. You don't know if you've ever taken a partner so deep, but at least you can be sure that lubrication won't be an issue. His hands settle on the ground at your waist as he drops to his knees. You can almost feel him touching you.

Face to face, sharing breath, locking eyes, you lean in to kiss him. His body shudders, especially when you bury your hands in his mane, cupping the base of his ears. He quickly gets the knack of kissing you breathless and his hands start to explore your body. He's both gentle and fierce, clearly holding himself back so as not to harm you. You feel the tip of him tease at your entrance and you moan into his mouth as purring rumbles through him. 

He pushes into you slowly, twitching and feeling you out, the amount of dexterity mind numbing. You lose yourself as he finds and starts rubbing his tip over your sweet spot. When you start to come he pushes deeper and you squeeze around him reflexively. He groans and becomes more eager to fill you. At first you thought it was just a matter of his tapered length, but you realize that he's growing thicker, even as his hardness becomes less flexible.

He's stretching you and it's almost unbearable except that you're just so wet, certainly because of how he is still oozing inside you. He fits so snugly you can't even move or so much as think. He rolls his hips and your whole body spasms as a reflex. You hear your scream echo back to you and he grins. You kiss him again and squeeze his ears and he bucks into you hard enough you slide along the ground. He grabs your hips then, as you wrap your legs around his back.

He begins fucking you in earnest, starting with strong shallow thrusts and then lengthening his strokes. He adjusts his angles as you cling to him, feeling your voice but unable to hear anything but the sounds he's making. Some of it is probably words but most of it is primal response.

You feel his temperature increasing as you tighten and he swells, you feel the tension building like the final climb up the peak of a roller coaster. You come first and swear you start again when he is gushing inside you, stronger than some of the showerheads you've used. He keeps rocking into you even as you feel a puddle forming below your bodies.

He moans low and long as you settle back down to earth. He rests his weight on his elbows, keeping his body pressed to yours, gently putting his forehead on yours. Feelings creep in on you and you can feel that this is more than just sexual. You feel him becoming a part of you and you start to realize just how much he has been risking for you.

You start to cry but his presence is nothing but a comfort to you, the bond something so profound that you don't have words for it. You start trying to apologize, but he reassures you, even feels a bit sad that humans don't experience the same connection when they mate. You wonder if this bond has been forming between you all along and he isn't sure.

The connection is certainly a great aid to your communication. He takes you home and you aren't surprised that Sportacus knows, somehow he is tied to you now as well, though not as strongly. A sense of explanation about family bonds, then suddenly you're swept up in a bittersweet moment of love and loss. There is joy that you are Family as well as grief for the mother who was lost. Íthro shares memories of his family and though you feel less connection to the family you left behind in the human world they still celebrate your contribution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned on the other two, congrats, you're now officially a furry. Meet me at the pit of eternal yiffening in hell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few surprises are in store for you, good and very very bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The impregnation part of the story starts here.

You mate several more times throughout the rest of Íþró’s rut and every experience reveals something anew. Life seems richer, more colorful and your awareness broader. You swear you can even see in the dark better. Indeed it's a euphoric experience, every day more than the last. You've heard of love, even thought that you had experienced it before, but this is an entirely new life.

You realize that you've lost track of the days and you try to account for the lost time, looking over your scratched tallies. You're pretty sure that it's been over two months, but your cycle has yet to appear.

Íþró is surprised to learn how human cycles work, and is nearly bemused by the notion of always fertile reproductive capacity, when suddenly you both reach the same conclusion for what would cause yours to stop. Sportacus is immediately celebrating as you adults struggle to comprehend the possibility that you're genetically compatible.

~

A few months in and you feel great, beaming with pride, healthy, lean and fit. Your growing baby anchors you to your family, is likely partially responsible for how great you feel with the vitality of its magic flowing through you. You aren't as fast or as strong or hyperaware as they are, but you also don't need to hide so desperately.

Or so you had assumed until you stumble into a hunting blind.

“You must be that hiker lady who went missing last fall, well I gotta say it's good to see you alive, and thriving by the looks of things.” Calls a man’s voice.

“Oh yeah.” You're startled by the sight of another human after so long with your new family.

“It's a miracle nearabout, these woods are dangerous, especially during winter, not to mention the wildlife.” 

Something about this man bothers you but you aren't sure what it is. You feel your family's concern but you tamp down your anxiety and insist that you have the situation under control.

“It wasn't so bad. I actually found my way out after the storm passed, but I decided that I wanted to stay out here longer.” You explain.

“Is that so? It's the damnedest thing, they had a full search and rescue team out looking for you, what with the bloodhounds and all and couldn't find hide nor hair of you.” You can't quite place the offsetting nature of this rugged man, he's been nothing but friendly and polite but he makes your skin crawl.

First you spot the scars on his neck. He sees you looking and grins crookedly. “I wasn't kidding about the wildlife. I know you city folk ain't got a good sense about animals, think it's all your cute little puppies and kitties, hell some of y’all even think they're little people, but out here, these beasts ain't tame and will eat you as soon as look at you.”

Horror washes over you as you recognize the color and pattern on the man’s leather vest, it's nearly identical to Sportacus’ freckled skin. Immediately you feel Íþró’s ~RAGE~, so powerful that you feel ill, and even sway on your feet.

“Woah there, little lady, can't be overexerting yourself in your condition. If I ain't being too forward, where's the daddy? I figure you can't be more than say, five or six months along, and you've been missing for about eight.”

“It was a, just a one time thing, I met another hiker.” You lie quickly.

The man whistles low. “Well, I guess that's what I get for poking my nose where it don't belong.”

In truth, you can feel your child's father tearing towards you like a bat out of hell, furious about this monster of a man who killed his first mate and terrified about what his plans are for you.

“I think I ought to head back to my camp site, but it was nice meeting you. Maybe we'll meet again sometime.” In hell, you think. You beg Íþró to stop and stay away, danger heavy in the air.

“I'd like that, whereabouts are you staying?” He asks conversationally.

“Oh I move around a lot, I like to explore.” You laugh weakly.

“You gotta hole up someplace to survive the winter.” He states.

“Oh yeah I wasn't sure exactly where I was then.” You try to step away and he grabs your wrist. You twist out of his grasp and then he hits you across the face. You can feel Íþró’s blood boiling from here. As you struggle to your feet, the stranger grabs you by the hair with one hand, and ice cold terror floods you as you feel cold metal prod your belly.

“It's a shame, you're so pretty. I gotta say I didn't know that you could fuck those animals, maybe I should have had a bit of fun with the one I harvested before I gutted her. She was pregnant too.” You try not to stare at the gun barrel pressing against you.

You go with him passively and start praying. Íþró chases you but you know that you're just the bait for a trap. This man isn't a casual poacher, he's been preparing for this. He drags you into a jeep, the snub nosed revolver in your gut the whole time. He handcuffs you to the frame and then starts driving.

You try to think of every action movie hero you've ever seen, and all that comes to you is that you've never seen one starring a pregnant woman. Your own anger starts to boil up over being the cliche damsel in distress and worst of all you really need to take a piss.

You knew that this man was some kind of piece of work, but you almost think that you're entering a military base when he makes it to his destination. There are so many thoughts running through your head that you can't keep track of what's going on, even just the layers of security that you can see are beyond your knowledge. Íþró doesn't stand a chance at breaching these fortifications and he isn't meant to.

“Yeah it looks a little extreme but my family's been hunting these monsters for generations and I have been trying to catch this particular buck since I was a boy myself.” It's sick and you just keep feeling sicker. He leaves you cuffed in the car, sitting under spotlights.

You focus on trying to figure out how to escape the handcuffs. You don't know how to pick locks and even if you did you don't exactly have even an improvisatory tool. The cuffs are wrapped around a metal bar thicker than your arm, welded at each end to the steel of the vehicle. You have heard that you can escape handcuffs by breaking your hand, or was it wrist?, but you don't think that you have the right kind of leverage. You almost consider trying to chew your own hand off but you think you would probably bleed to death or pass out first.

You try to move, getting up from your seat, using your arms to help lift you from a sitting position. You don't seem to have made any real progress by crouching on the seat, but you decide to take the opportunity for a closer look at the handcuffs. Íþró’s presence is still loud in your head but you can tell he's growing weary. Despite every warning, even Sportacus is trailing along behind, refusing to let his family face danger without him.

Neither of you scold him, feeling the underlying fear of being left alone to fend for himself, to lose his other parents. You just wish that Íþró could see through his thirst for retribution long enough to think things through, to plan something carefully, together and without putting themselves in harm's way. You curse, realizing that maybe you should have tried to play along with the man, to have pretended to see things his way.

You think that you can see a weak link in the handcuffs, and you notice that there is a flat piece of metal welded into the corner of the roll cage. The edges of the reinforcement might be sharp enough to pry apart the chain linking the cuffs. Aggressively you start grinding the metal pieces together.

Although Íþró refuses to listen to reason, Sportacus is eager to learn more about the possibilities of infiltrating the compound. The first obstacle is what is a very tall chain link fence, likely electrified, with razor wire on top. Despite not having knowledge of these things, he understands enough to avoid the danger. Somehow there has to be a way to shut down the power, although you're certain that there will be back up generators. You hope that there will be enough time for you to get out of the car and find cover before the backup power kicks on.

The poacher will know the instant his perimeter is tampered with and you have no idea what else he has at his disposal. You know that there are several forms of infared and motion detectors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be like two or three more chapters of this. I kinda wanted to a winter chapter but this whole series is just me pushing stuff out as it comes.
> 
> And the poacher is a jerk I hate that guy


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to be a pregnant action movie hero.

You are only marginally relieved when Íþró slows his approach of the perimeter. He's paid attention to enough of the mental conversation between you and his son that he knows that he can't just tear a hole through the fence and come free. You have almost managed to split the handcuffs, the weak link has opened almost enough to slip apart. A cracking boom sounds out and before long you smell smoke.

Íþró has felled a tree on the fence line. He's still in the woods and has moved away. It's good thinking but the fire has you worried. It's near the end of the dry season and the underbrush will go up in a flash. At the same time it also hinders your foe. Firelight casts irregular shadows, painting moving images that create illusions and cover what's hiding in the dark by it's brightness. It's genius really, infrared and night vision, even the motion detectors are useless now.

At least outside of the compound. Within a generous firebreak burns only a token amount of weeds and nothing of significance. Íþró fells more trees, you're not sure how he's able to do it so quickly and stealthily, but he's definitely making it harder for the poacher to predict his approach. Still the hunter has the bait in his trap and you all know that it's still a standoff.

You finally free yourself from the restraints and spitefully pee on his seats. It's not your best idea as you will still need to wait in the vehicle for the near future, but you needed to relieve yourself anyway.

You can feel Íþró stewing, glaring up at the tower where the Poacher sits with his rifle, lazily scanning his perimeter with a long scope. You find yourself wishing that you knew how to hotwire a car. You're pretty sure that movies have lied to you about it but you don't have anything better to do, so you squat in the foot well and try to open the steering column.

You stare at the bundle of wires and curse. How are you supposed to know what's what? You huff, and then decide to look for a manual. You find his insurance and registration information, then tear it up with a cackle. Covered in grease and far behind the seats you find the manual, flicking through it to the electrical section. After considering it carefully you figure that the starter and battery wires are the ones that you need to connect.

The car makes a few strange coughs but doesn't start. You start cursing before slapping your forehead. “Stick shift, duh.” You ignore the spongy wet seat as you engage the clutch and try again. You cheer as you get the engine running and even get it into first gear. Only the steering wheel is locked in place. “Fuck it.” You strap on the seat belt, taking car to secure yourself around the baby, and slam on the gas.

You crash into a shed that might be a garage and after a moment or two to collect yourself and make sure that you aren't hurt, decide that being trapped in the shoddy building is a slight upgrade to being trapped in the Jeep. In the commotion, Íþró has entered the compound. Now the standoff between him and the sniper rifle has begun in earnest. The motion activated floodlights have him located on the far side of the house.

It's good cover, better than yours, but it doesn't leave much room to work with. There's several yards of no man's land between the tower and the structures. You and Íþró are on opposite sides of the compound and there are not any obstacles to sneak through on the way, to say nothing of the motion sensors. An idea does start to come to you however, as the smell of gasoline meets your nostrils and the Jeep still chugs with life.

Íþró has entered the house, now suffering his own nightmare, grieving as he finds his family history painted in death and violence across the walls. Even if you couldn't feel his grief directly, you can certainly hear his wails. What sickens you the most is the knowledge that the poacher is likely enjoying it. You resolve to burn this whole place to the ground tonight.

That is, if you figure your way out of your current predicament, death by carbon monoxide poisoning is not at the top of your list for ways to end the night. Thankfully, you've punched enough of a hole through the structure that you can just barely get through to the other side. From outside you enlarge the hole, and start dragging the stored gas cans out.

You're a fair distance from the fire burning at the fence line, but you toss a few small containers of flammable liquids that way anyway, and liberally douse your way to the now open fuel tank of the Jeep. You know that the explosion will be dangerous and you hope that you will have enough time to get clear when the flames start to spread. Your current plan is to hope that between your already filthy appearance and the cover of the flames and night time that you can make a dash, or at least sneak your way to the woods and hopefully provide enough of a distraction for Íþró to retreat from the house.

Sportacus finally arrives and you can feel his exhaustion. You use his help to better scout the layout of the compound, trying to locate the energy source. You and Íþró are reluctant to let him put himself at risk, but as it stands he's the only one who will be able to reach the generators.

But first you will need to finish creating your distraction and flight to the woods. You aren't sure if the poacher is even paying attention to you now that his quarry is confined to the house. The three of you all respond to the sudden pain as one. Íþró has stepped in a bear trap. The Álfar is strong enough to remove it easily enough, but his hock might be broken. He will be much slower on three legs and the poacher has other vehicles.

Your plan remains much the same for now, but you will need to rescue Íþró at this rate. You start crawling slowly away from the building, keeping an eye towards the tower, although you can't see much. You just hope that you are moving slowly enough to avoid notice. Gritting your teeth you pray to every god you can think of that you will pull this off.

You're almost within throwing distance of the fence line when what you can only hope is a warning shot buries itself into the dirt next to your face. Íþró bellows and you wait until you hear another report from the rifle before you leap to your feet and start running directly at the downed fence. You hear more shots and you aren't sure if he's firing at you or Íþró when you notice the fuel trail catch. You throw yourself back down to the ground and hope that the fallen tree will shield you. Even covering your ears and with the expectation coming the explosion nearly deafens all of you. 

While Sportacus dashes to the generators, you uncover your ears to hear metal twisting. Looking up you see the tower falling, directly onto the house. “No, no no no no!” You yell ineffectually. Íþró hesitates from his retreat, and you realize that he's taken a few bullet wounds in the commotion. Íþró approaches the caved in roof cautiously and nearly takes a revolver round to the face.

Íþró and the poacher are now stalking each other through the darkened house, heedless of the spreading fire and Sportacus is as uncertain what to do as you are.


End file.
